


Broken Minds

by InterNutter



Category: X-Men (Comicverse)
Genre: F/M, Winding Way
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-09
Updated: 2013-06-09
Packaged: 2017-12-14 11:56:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,864
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/836607
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/InterNutter/pseuds/InterNutter
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sara wanted to play with the Winding Way 'verse. This is the result.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Broken Minds

Disclaimer: I own nothing but Sara and her associated relatives. Oh, and this story. Please don't steal it.

ObInfo: This sorta slots into the comicverse, into the latest Nightcrawler comic thing with the Winding Way and all that jazz. If it affronts your personal view of what was going on then, then you can ignore it ^_^.

Broken Minds  
InterNutter

February in New York. It's a deep freeze. I've got thermals on under clothes under a tracksuit under some woolens under my big coat. I think there's a layer or two of flanelette in there somewhere.  
It's easy to forget in the cold.  
I forgot why I came here. I was looking for something. Now I'm wandering the streets, just endlessly looking.  
That man has a tail.  
It's surprising how easy it is to get distracted. One mutant on the street and I'm off on another tangent. Wait. Mutant. I'm a mutant too! I'm looking for the place... where... Follow him! Follow the tail. Tail the tail.  
Hee hee hee. It sways when he walks. Like a pendulum. Like those toy snakes made out of connected pipes.  
Catch it. Catch it. This is fun. HA!  
He looks back at me and I grin and laugh. "Got you," I sing. "Where do you go, mister?"  
"Father?" he says. "But I'm not... I..."  
And then he walks on, and no more turns his head.  
The look in his eyes.  
Even in the mental fog of the cold, I can't forget that look. It burned itself into my head when I was four.

_The old woman had sung along to the old songs, clapped and cheered... for another little girl who didn't have Sara's name. Sara made a point of visiting her.  
"Did you enjoy the show?"  
"Those lessons are paying off, May. I'm so very proud of you."  
"Do you know who I am?"  
"How could I forget my daughter? That's silly, dear."  
Those same eyes. That lost look. The same daughter Mrs Pendergast had been so proud of was far too busy for her own mother, and put her into this place to be forgotten.  
Sara roleplayed at being the brilliant, loving daughter until it was time to go home. But she'd never forget those eyes._

He was lost and he needed help. Help the man. Help him. Keep the stuff with. Can't lose the stuff, but follow the man with the tail. There's an old church amongst some industrial ruins. A beautiful old thing in need of love. He goes in like it's home.  
For all I know, it is.  
I sit while he lights a candle and murmurs in Latin. Old school Catholic. The lack of wind chill helps develop a pocket of heat in amongst the multiple folds of my clothes. Easier to think.  
He looks at an old confessional like he's starving.  
"Is it..." he says. "Can I go in?"  
I don't know why. I just instantly roleplay. "He's been waiting for you."  
At least it gives me some time.  
I find the little offices behind the alter and the correct half of the yellow pages. There's a number to call. There. Big half-page ad and some primer info on mutants.  
_Need help? Free emergency number. Anywhere, any time._  
The phone here has been stolen. I take out a marker and circle the number and make a note to call it. Tear out the page, may the spirits of all bibliophiles forgive me. Then I check on my friend. He's talking about the X-men. Excalibur.  
He's a hero?  
Phone booths are being phased out. Everyone has cellulars, now. Not much money in booths. It takes time to find one. Then more time to find one that's working.  
"Please don't be a machine," I plead with the ringing sound. "Please, please..."  
"Thankyou for calling the Xavier School mutant hotline. What's your emergency?"  
"Uh. Uhm." Damn the cold. I check the paper. "Hero in trouble. He's blue. He's... lost in time." Can't forget those eyes. "I think I'm in trouble too. I can't think."  
"Please keep the line open," says the operator. "We're tracing you."  
"But I left him like, five blocks away. In a church. He's not well." I remember that. "It's so cold. I can't think. Shit, I left my stuff in the church. Poor Chuckie. I gotta go back!"  
"...possibly three people. I think one of them's Kurt," says the operator.  
I didn't hang up. I just dropped the phone and ran.  
He was still there when I got back. Staring at the empty half where the priest usually sat. He wheeled on me. "What did you say?"  
"I didn't say anything."  
And he's running. I grab my stuff and go after him. Stay with him. Keep him safe. Save a hero. Be worthwhile. For once in my life.  
He's scared. Those lost eyes look back at me like I'm a Dragon he's known and feared for his whole life.  
When he gets to the dead end, he's thrashing around like a fish on land. Hurting himself. It's all I can do to try and hold him down. Hurts. He knows how to fight. I just sorta weigh whatever bit I can grab down. I almost have him...  
{BAMF!}  
Bare concrete and the stench of sulphur. Lots of pain. Hero must've teleported. Where?  
Another trail of smoke. He landed on Eileen. Broken and battered and I can't think.  
Save the hero.  
How?  
Engine noise blasts all thought from my head. Big black Deus Ex Machina decending from the sky. More heroes.  
"Heroes! Yay!" I cheer. "In the nick of time!"  
The big silver one picks up my broken hero and Eileen in one arm and me in the other. His grip on me feels more 'bully' and less 'friend'.  
"What you do with my tovarich?"  
Unthinking, I switch to Russian. "[I only sought to help him, I swear. He was fighting shadows. I only tried to stop him hurting himself.]"  
"Frost!" another hero barks. "Full scan on the newcomer."  
A figure all in white... lingerie strides into view. A creepy spider feeling goes through my head, but all I can think of is what her costume means.  
So cold. So hard to think.  
Mother - the copy of her in my head - and the bad punster within team up and take over my mouth. "I get it," I chirp. "Hoarfrost!"

Scott winced as Emma's eyes narrowed. He could tell without telepathy that she was thinking of several hundred nasty things to do to the stranger that had just insulted her.  
"Benign," she announced. "And something of an idiot. We might as well take them with us. It'd be criminal neglect *not* to."  
"Please don' hurt my stuff," the creature mumbled. "Chuckie's in there. 'S all th' fam'ly I got..."  
The focus was on Kurt. Helping him. The newcomer and their 'stuff' was simply strapped down and left.  
"FYI?" said Marrow through the babble of medical jargon. "I think I found 'Chuckie'. It's a hamster."  
"Look after it," Scott ordered. "It's all the family that person has left." He went back to staring at the team working to save Kurt and willing the blue fuzzy elf to live. The stranger and their story could wait.

Emma found the painkillers on automatic. For all her bragging about the usual debris, it had been hard work. Even when hit for a loop and half-conscious and half insane, the mental shields taught to him by Xavier were both solid and formidable.  
She washed the pills down with water. Lots of cold, clear, pure water. She'd learned well from the Hellfire Club. Never mix medications. It was how they kept her under.  
Never again.  
"Did you find him?"  
Emma startled. That had been a patch of wall a moment ago. Now it was the... the *thing* they'd picked up with Kurt.  
It looked infectious. Like something usually on a slab in some plague movie. Redness, swelling, blisters, lumps. It was truly horrific. And honestly concerned.  
"What?" said Emma.  
"Did you find him?"  
"Uhh..."  
"He was lost in there," it tapped its own head for emphasis. "Someone said you were a telepath. Did you find him?"  
The penny dropped with an audible clunk. "Oh. Yes. I did."  
The thing sighed. "So he'll be okay?"  
"Up on his feet in no time."  
"Saved a hero," it said. "Silver star, Sara Louise."  
In order to stop herself staring at the disfigurement, she dipped into the Thing's head.

_Topmost of the vast ocean of chaos was a giant ledger. Sins against merits. Very few merits. A seemingly endless score of sins.  
And brand new, shining and wonderful was a silver star added to the merits.  
Emma dipped deeper and encountered a whirlwind of voices. Shattered shards of bits and pieces of her.  
She was broken._

"Who exactly is in charge in there?" she wondered out loud.  
The thing... Sara... blinked. "I think I must be run by committee," she murmured. "I do try to keep charge, but..." a shrug. "I'm just regrettable."  
Emma knew from dipping into her head that she was a newly-minted seventeen. Thrown out by her mother. Lost. And looking for the only place that could help.  
Which, by co-incidence, was here.  
"Has anyone been looking after you?"  
A shake of the head within the hood. "No. Not really. I test very high on forgettablity. I don't really blame anyone. Higher priorities and all. I just tend to slip through the cracks."  
Emma found her an emergency bunker bedroom close to Hank's lab/hospital and gave her a map. Told her how to work the controls and the basic locations for all the necessities.  
Sara turned the thermostat up to a comfortable warmth. "Where's Chuckie? Where's my things?"  
Emma cast out a psychic net. The hamster was currently being spoiled rotten in Marrow's room. The rest was being puzzled over by the tech-heads in the hangar. She 'told' both groups to return Sara's things and where to do so. Immediately, for preference.  
"They're on their way," she said. "And by the by... My code-name is 'White Queen'. My real name is Emma Frost."  
"Oh. So I said that out loud," said Sara. Her face went even redder. "I've got an awful lot of digging to do, don't I?"  
This... aspect of her was brighter than the one that had insulted her. Which begged the question as to why anyone would want a personality with the wit and charm of an overripe tangerine. "Some. You get your... committee... to work on it, hm?"  
As she left, Marrow was coming one way with the hamster and a team of five with the wheeled junkyard known as Sara's stuff.  
Nice to know she was still in charge.

~~~~

The first Hank knew of her was a note on his To Do list. Check Patient, room STS 47225. It was Emma's handwriting, but there was no further information. Not even a chart.  
It was several degrees warmer than normal in the room, which had evidently been moved into. Stuff lined the shelves, including a hamster cage and rodent tubing that threatened to take over the entire enclosure.  
The patient was cooking in the kitchenette. And singing.  
"Hello?" he risked. "I'm Doctor Henry McCoy. You can call me Hank."  
The figure in the hood turned, looking like a nightmare from a zombie film. "Ah. I was told to wait for the doctor. You're just in time. I'm almost out of supplies. If I'm going to live here, I'm going to need a bit more than the barest necessities... though I can make do if I have to."  
"Most people use the cafeteria down the hall."  
"Most people don't make others sick just by being looked at."  
"Whatever gave you that idea?"  
"I have no illusions. Even before I lost my sight, I wasn't much to look at. I know it's progressing, I can feel it. More pain. Less movement. Less that I'm capable of. I suppose what I'd really like is a prognosis." A sigh. "And anyway, I heard you trying not to retch when I turned around. Have you stopped staring yet? I can't really tell any more."  
Hank closed his mouth with an audible click. "Uh."  
"It's all right. I know I'm hideous. Plus I offended the house telepath. Or one of them. I'm a little fuzzy on the details. Oh. Speaking of fuzzy... is our hero okay? The one I was bought in with?"  
"There are many heroes here," said Hank.  
"Fuzzy, blue-ish. Whippy tail. Disappears in a puff of smoke?"  
"Oh. Kurt. Yes. He's making an excellent recovery."  
"Please? Can you just... not tell about me until he asks? If he asks? If he does remember, I don't like the idea of him seeing me like this and... if he doesn't... he's better off not knowing I exist like this. He's... kind of cute. I don't want to make anyone else sick." An unexpected sob in the middle of an otherwise chipper demeanor. "I used t' win contests. I used t' be beautiful..."  
Ah. Feminine vanity. It was eternal.  
"What *is* your name, my dear?"  
"Sara Louise Adrien," she said. "Currently impersonating Patient Zero."  
He huffed a laugh. "Well, Sara Louise Adrien... You can rest assured in my personal guarantee that you and your current appearance shall be naught but the best kept secret in Xavier's school. Only myself, the Professor, and whomsoever that we deem strictly necessary will be permitted visitation."  
"Really?"  
"I'll even do your shopping." Hank put a restraining hand on hers. "*After* I get a history and some basic readings."

He should have been happy. He should have felt better about his life. Yet something still felt... absent.  
He glanced over at Logan.  
"Told ya no hard feelin's, Elf," he said. "You knew I'd get over it."  
"I keep thinking I've forgotten something," he said.  
"Probably nuthin' important. An' ya don't got spinach in your teeth."  
"Was?"  
"Date tonight? With your hot nurse?"  
"Ach!" That must have been it. He teleported upstairs to find something decent to wear. A little bit of swash and buckle. A little bit of wine. A lot of romance...  
Yes. That was it.  
Later, when they'd said their farewells, he wasn't so certain. There was something he'd forgotten in New York...  
His tail flicked in agitation behind him as he paced, trying to remember. There'd been a lot of walking. He remembered that. And the cold. And burning up...  
Emma said his visions in the fever-driven haze following Vermin's attack were reflections of his own psyche trying to work out his personal problems, but... there was something real about them, too.  
Someone following him?  
Kurt centred himself with a breath, casting his mind into his memory as he sat in his reading nook in his bedroom. Someone had been following him. He could sense a real person behind the fever-dreams. But beyond that...  
Hank was reading upside-down when he got to the lab.  
"There was someone with me, wasn't there?" he asked. "Someone watching over me. Or trying to."  
The feline face battled with a decision. "She helped us find you, even though she was battling with her own manifestation."  
_Someone holding his tail. "Got you! Where do you go, mister?"_ A lovely face, marred by boils and blisters. A beautiful smile. Half insane.  
"Where is she?"  
"Sara specifically requested that you not be allowed to see her, and I quote, 'until this mess is over with'. She... she should be allowed this one vanity."  
"How bad...?"  
"She's in the regen tank."  
When the human - or mutant - body could no longer stand the pull of gravity, there was the regeneration tank. A tube with all the amenities a body needed, including the gentler support of the fluid mixture of one's choice.  
Kurt was pulling aside the curtain before he knew what was happening. The mass in the tank was barely recognizable as human. And, according to the ultrasound devices attatched, she was alive in that.  
He started to pray. Fingers moved to touch the tank and bless it.  
She exploded with a faint 'bwoosh'.  
He screamed. He knew he screamed because Hank was trying to settle him down.  
No.  
It wasn't fair.  
He'd just found her again.  
"I say, does anyone down there have a robe? Or a towel? I rather think I'm done."  
He looked up and heard angels. Alive.  
What a beautiful word.  
Hank was helping evacuate something from her eyes by the time he returned with a robe. "You had me worried there, for a minute."  
"I heard. You make some positively attrocious sounds, when you're not paying attention to yourself."  
"Thankyou," he laughed. "Twice, now."  
"Just twice?"  
"Once for my life," he said, "And the other for the laughs."  
She boggled. "You can just laugh at that? No offense, but if it was me, I'd be trying to dig a hole to hide in through sheer willpower." She managed to slide into the robe without revealling herself.  
It was odd to be graceful whilst peeling pieces of oneself off, but Sara somehow managed to do it. "Oh, this must be awful to look at. I'd be mortified, but that part of me's busy panicking about being potentially seen naked by strangers."  
"I didn't look," said Kurt. _Not too hard, anyway._  
Sara scrubbed her fingers through her hair, and came away with a large chunk of her own scalp. "Oh, *nasty*. I'm so glad this is not happening in front of a large audience. In my old life, this sort of... disturbance... would be happening with a crowd of lookie-loos and associated vicious rumour. Hold a parade, sell tickets. Sara Louise is doing something freakishly weird. Again."  
"We're mutants," said Kurt. "Weird is everyday business."  
She looked at him again, and realisation dawned. "Oh." She curled up around the act of tightening the robe over as much flesh as possible. "...oh dear... ohdearohdearohdear... Doctor Hank? I think I'm going again..."  
Hank, who had been busy taking notes, dropped everything to fetch a pillow and a mouthpiece.  
Sara's face began tic'ing. "Terribly sorry. Not your fault. Don't be alarmed. Temporarily BSOD'd. Do pardon me while I reboot." One hand, unbidden, released the robe to fend off an invisible foe.  
"Our patient suffers from a form of stress-related pseudoseizure. I've performed scans during a milder episode." Hank moved quickly. Caught her as she lost control over her spasming. Moved the pillow under her head and the bit between her teeth. "There's nothing to indicate epilepsy, and all the readings indicate post traumatic stress disorder, of all things." He looked up. "Don't go having your usual brand of fun with this one, Kurt."  
"Was?"  
"Forget the innocent act. You're finding things to appreciate about her. Don't. Stop right there and go no further."  
Sara's heels pattered against the floor. Ugly noises came out of her throat.  
"I don't--"  
"She's damaged. She needs *help*... not your unique brand of bafflegab."  
"She's crying," he said. "I... can't help myself around crying girls."  
"Start making a concerted effort."

Sara could hear everything. Just because she wasn't at the helm any more didn't mean that she wasn't 'home'. It was part of the reason why she was crying.  
No girl worth her hormones ever wants to be caught in this degree of ugly vulnerability in front of someone they thought was cute.  
She knew better than to fight. Fighting lead to an extreme and epic fit for which the English invented the word 'wobbler'.  
She'd completely ruined one of Mother's parties with that kind of thing, once upon a time. Not helped by dear cousin Roals, who took perverse delight in emphasising every single thing that set her off. It had ended with a black patch in Sara's memory and the news, some days later, that the doctors had managed to surgically remove Roals' teeth from his digestive tract and correctly re-insert five of the eight found down there with no lasting ill effect. Of the remaining three, one would have to be cosmetically whitened, and the rest replaced with synthetic substitutes.  
The next morning, before Mother could wake, Sara had taken Chuckie and her bare essentials and left.  
Such a long, weird journey to come back full circle. Crying and juddering on the floor while people looked on and talked about her as if she couldn't hear them.  
_Let them talk. Just words. Words don't wound._  
Bafflegab.  
Kurt... dear Kurt who was kind of cute... apparently practiced a form of flim-flammery on the ladies.  
_You should be safe, Sara Louise. He's never going to look *your* ugly way._  
_Never counted for much as a lady anyway._  
_Just want someone honest._

~~~~

Emma followed the delicious smells down to one of the fancier kitchens above ground. This one, where the most culinary experiments occurred, contained the best hardware and widest range of ingredients. Whoever was responsible for this one was apparently trying to shatter the record for the most diets down the drain.  
Including her own.  
The tall creature in T-shirt and jeans was green.  
Emma snagged something doughy and sweet to wake herself up. Ah, sugar bliss. "Not that I'm objecting," she said, "but who the hell are you and why are you cooking..." she looked around. There was food on every possible availlable surface. "...apparently for the whole school?"  
The green whip of a girl turned and presented her with an omlette. "Even something of a benign idiot must have her uses, don't you think, Ms Frost?"  
Click.  
"*You're* the thing in the alley?"  
"By light, known as Sara Louise Adrien," she said. "Unless you want me to start calling you 'hoarfrost' again. I am rather hoping we can at least keep things civilized."  
"Your head," Emma announced, "is a warren. I can't even read you, now."  
"I don't have body hair, any more. Doctor Hank says that my mutation compensates by entering hybernation in chillier situations. Things shut down, including the -ah- more socially adept portions of my brain." A sunny smile as she offered a home-made breakfast juice. "But somehow, I remember everything."  
"And you can still be civilized about it?"  
"If all the world focussed on petty revenge, we'd never get anything productive done. I'm willing enough to give folks a second chance once they know all the facts... forgive and forget as easily as they used to forget me. That kind of thing."  
"Are you trying to pull something?" said Emma.  
"Only to pull off breakfast for five hundred and change students, teachers and sundry."  
"There *are* cafeterias, you know."  
And then the horde swarmed through.  
Her smile wasn't smug nor condescending but... contented. And slightly amazed. Her surface thoughts said, _Wow. Acceptance. Who'd have thought it would be so easy after so long?_

Charles had been nodding over an ancient tome of legends[1] when the invading presence snapped him into awareness. While it is true that it was virtually impossible to sneak up on a telepath, Sara Louise had damn near succeeded. At first, startled and half-asleep glance, she rather resembled the Invisible Man. Her clothes were present but the wearer, apparently, was not.  
_Interesting,_ he mused. Aloud, he said, "There's no need to creep about, I rather appreciate the effort you've made."  
Her eyes showed up, too. Startled and wide. "I'msorryIdidn'tmeantodisturbyou--"  
"I promise you, I'm not the slightest bit disturbed. Now. Why don't you tell me your story?"  
She faded back into her normal, aqua scales. "Um. There's... parts that aren't very nice. And bits that aren't... very well connected. And some of it goes on for a bit..." _And I'm easily distracted and I loose the thread and wind up rambling and you really, *really* don't want to know..._  
He retrieved the tray and set out tasty morsels on a handy coffee table. She'd even prepared his favourite tea[2]. He poured two cups. "You've cooked for so many... haven't you taken any for yourself?"  
"Me?" she laughed. "Pshaw, I'm not that important."  
"Why ever would you say that?"  
And thus, the floodgates opened.  
The frightening part. The bit that really chilled him to the bone... was that she made the entire travesty of her life seem - amusing. Her entire life was a funny anecdote for parties.  
_I'm going to find that monster she calls a mother and give her an intense, and highly personal lesson in Karma,_ he mentally vowed. She was more than bright. Her mutation allowed her to absorb and process staggering amounts of information at a phenominal speed. In so far as he could diagnose, her chief problem with a structured education was that her teachers ran out of things for her to learn.  
And a bored Sara... was a powderkeg.  
Idle hands may be the devil's playground, but Sara was a walking amusement park. Her vast knowledge base lead her down some... interesting pathways. Left to her own devices, she could easily bury herself in projects. And once, almost had.  
Well, Forge had been whining that no-one could really keep up with him...  
"...and that was a rather *nasty* smile, sir. Something I said spark something else off?"  
"Just... considering your best mentor," he said.  
"Already? But I've just been sitting here and babbling my fool head off."  
"In between some -ah- mandatory training... You and Forge shall work together on various projects around the Institute. I believe you'll be good for each other."

Kurt was in charge of teaching her how to tumble. Logan had combat, he had evasion. Every now and then the two of them would spar for their agog students. And once in a long, long while, Kurt would let Logan win.  
Right now, the biggest hurdle was teaching the newbie it was okay to hit people.  
The holographic counterpart neatly trounced her again.  
"He's the enemy, ja? You don't get in trouble for beating the bad guy."  
"I always did."  
Kurt thought hard. He needed some kind of trigger that would break her personal barriers. "And what would you do to Herr Blankface if he threatened to hurt your little Chuckie?"  
"Stomach! Instep! Nose! Groin!" Whump. Whump. Whump. Whump. In rapid succession. Another knee to the gut soon followed, and an elbow to the ribs. She tangled its legs to bring it down, throwing her body weight into the blow.  
It took the two of them *and* Piotr to peel her off the simulacrum's neck.  
Her pupils were pinpoints. Foam escaped the corners of her mouth.  
"What the hell were you doing, Elf?" Logan demanded.  
"Trying to find the right button to press," he said.  
"Got any idea where 'off' is?" said Piotr.  
_Well, it's worked before..._ {Bamf!} His lips met hers...

His next memory was the infirmary ceiling and a stinging ache on one side of his face.  
"Ow..." he managed.  
"Turns out she went to Lady Favisham's," said Logan. "If she put all that torque into punching ya, we might be puttin' your skull back together."  
"But... you were pinning her arms..."  
"She threw me."  
His hair stood on end. All of it. "She... threw you?"  
"Not far. Pete wised up and let go. Then... *crack*. You're lucky three teeps jumped in to put her out."  
Kurt tried moving his jaw. The joint cracked and popped and the muscles *hurt*. "Ow," he said again.  
"Yeah," said Logan. "Let's not press *that* button again."  
"Amen, mein freund. Where *is* Sara?"  
"Last I heard, having a meltdown in her room. Do *not* disturb."  
Kurt feigned innocence. "Me? I was just going to apologise."

[1] aka "a quaint and curious volume of forgotten lore" -- Edgar Allan Poe ;)  
[2] Earl Grey, hot ;)

~~~~

She was crying when he came to her. He looked at the roses, and then put them down on her little table. Sara didn't need roses. No teenager in face-down-on-the-bed misery was ever won to happiness by vegetation.  
So he did what Mama Margali always did when he was miserable. Tea, sympathy, and eierkuchen.  
Sara had a well-stocked larder and some... interesting teas. He guessed at which was her favourite and set it steeping in the glass teapot.  
At last, she stumbled into the kitchen looking worn out and depressed.  
"Hallo," he said. "I came to apologise, but... you were busy. And then I thought... what's a good cry without some binge snacking afterwards to make you feel better, ne? So..." he gestured with the frying pan. "Eierkuchen?"  
"Can the cute act, Herr Wagner. I used to live it, so I know all the tricks." She slumped, more than sat. "Smells fattening."  
"Name one sympathy food that's good for you."  
"Touche..."  
He served her some eierkuchen. "I am sorry about today."  
"About the kiss? Or about getting slapped?"  
He grinned in spite of himself. "Well, the first part was a little fun..."  
"Was that all it was for you? Fun?"  
"Well, there was a bit of strategy, too. Most of the ladies tend to swoon."  
That news did not cheer her up. She ate without apparently tasting anything. "It's not fair," she said.  
"Ja?"  
"That was my first kiss..."  
"Ah." Kurt flashed back to his own first kiss. A horrible thing where a drunken Kassie Warzemann sucked his lips into her mouth. "Well... for the record... I don't think anyone has ever had a fabulous first kiss."  
"At least it should mean something to either party..."  
Kurt could only think of one foil for that one. "She was drunk and I was sick, afterwards. She sucked my lips into her mouth. Urgh."  
"Pardon?"  
"My first kiss."  
"Okay. That might just beat out being someone else's tallymark."  
"Who says I keep score?"  
Her dark brown eyes ticked rapidly towards every last tell. Kurt got the feeling she could see right through him and wondered what she found under his persona.  
He'd had it so long that he almost didn't know where it started and he ended.  
"No. You don't. Which is odd, really. Most men who play the field tend to keep score in one way or another."  
"Ah, but I don't play the field. I flirt. It's a lot more fun and usually cheers people right up." He added some charm. "How about you?"  
"The last non-family male who paid me any attention at all was doing so in order to publicly humilliate me in front of the entire school. Think _Never Been Kissed_ but with dog excreta instead of eggs."  
He made a face. "Can I apologise on behalf of my gender? They must have been blind to miss such a gem."  
Half a smile.  
"And you can feel free to kick my butt until I have an ingrowing tail. Especially if I try to kiss you like that again without an invitation."  
Now a whole smile. "I'm not that violent, Herr Wagner."  
"Tell that to Logan. You threw h--" The tea had turned into a snow globe. He boggled. "...was?"  
Now a grin. This girl did have a vicious streak, no matter what her protests to the contrary. "White Christmas," she said. "It always makes me feel better, even before I drink it. The brownian snow-globe effect is... rather soothing."  
"...unglaublich..." He stared at it. It was rather like a lava lamp. Or more correctly, a glitter lamp, with particles floating about in seemingly random patterns.  
"I was going to thank you, you know."  
"Was?"  
"For crying out for me. You know? When my skin exploded. I'm... easy to distract and that stress-fit threw everything to heck. I've spent most of my life in the belief that only one person would actually care that I died. You didn't even know me."  
"Fraulein... I could spend my life studying you and I don't think I could ever know you."  
Her smile came alive across her whole face. "Now *that* was genuine. Thank you. I think I shall enjoy being an enigma."  
"Forgive me for being a flirt?"  
"Partially. I'm willing to accept the occasional volley as something of a reflex. But if you ever try serious, you had damn well better *be* serious. As in lifetime-serious. We Adriens devote our every atom to love. Done right, it lasts a lifetime of bliss. Done wrong..." a sigh. "It's eating Daddy alive. One day he'll either snap or break down or both and then she'll have finally destroyed him and there'll be nothing left for either of us and I *know* who she'll blame."  
"She?"  
"Mother," said with a sneer. "She's... messed up. Refuses professional psychological help. Says there's nothing wrong with her. But everyone who sees her flip-side *knows* there's something very broken in there."  
Kurt did his best Papa Freud. "So. Tell me more about your mother."  
"Got a spare hour or two?"  
They were still chatting amiably when Logan found them.  
"Do join us," said Sara. "There's still tea and eierkuchen... which is kind of like crepes, only slightly more delish."  
He leaned on the doorframe and said, "You boggle the mind, Elf."

~~~~~

"Absolutely not!"  
"She needs someone to keep her occupied."  
"I could not stand to have her in my workshop."  
"You still haven't given me a reason," said Xavier.  
"Have you *seen* what she did to that poor scooter of hers? An L-579 run by a mish-mash of engine parts never designed to run a scooter!"  
"And yet, she made it run. Think of what she could do under the right guidance."  
"I have. It's been giving me nightmares," said Forge.  
"Then think of what she would do without it."  
Forge froze. Something small went 'ping' into a dark corner. "She starts as soon as she can and *you* are rocking me to sleep."  
"Start with some of the basics. Refurbish her vehicle the proper way, show her how to repair some of the more... elementary machines."  
"The ones that have improved spares in operation," Forge decided. "I'm not letting her work on anything more advanced than Beta."  
"Just... give her a chance to astound you, hm?"

The former junkyard known as Eileen had its own lab. Forge had taken it to pieces the day before and laid them out in precise order, then sent a message to Sara to turn up to that lab at a specific time. He expected her to be late and lackadaisical, given her work on the motor. He never expected her to turn up so early she beat him there.  
He didn't expect mourning, either.  
The thin figure kneeling on the floor wasn't sobbing, nor wailing, nor using any other kind of showy display. Tears escaped her eyes and grief bent her face, but her hands kept moving.  
She had half her kludge-motor reassembled.  
"There's a reason I took her to pieces," he said. "Your first lesson was going to be separating the genuine parts from the... unorthadox."  
A broken voice reduced to a hoarse whisper, "...but they all fit..."  
"Just because it fits, doesn't mean it's right," he said.  
She sighed. Slumped. "Of course I got it wrong."  
"Just... take it back apart, hm? Tell me the story of how you got all those pieces together in the first place."

**Author's Note:**

> I think I got scared about what I was doing with this one, because I was not so familiar with the X-men circa Winding Way and had no money to get hold of any surrounding comics. Plus, I think Joss Wheedon was involved somewhere and we're diametrically opposite -- I love happy endings and he hates them.


End file.
